


Picturesque

by areticentreader archive (areticentreader)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9819188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areticentreader/pseuds/areticentreader%20archive
Summary: He wanted to know why he was so interested. She wanted to know how to live.





	1. Negatives and First Glances {extended summary}

**{ e x t e n d e d • s u m m a r y }**

Philip Marshal was absolutely bored. He didn't want the same predictable routine every day. He wanted something more from life. He didn't mean to almost punch his "something more" in the face.

She just wanted to have life. Lethana Barnswell was sinking into her darkness. It had been years since the incident, but she was still struggling to live. She found that she could only live through pictures, even though she was going to die soon anyway. She had not expected him to be in the picture.

They forge an unlikely friendship, but neither of them are sure how long it will last or if it is even worth it.

* * *

**{ e p i g r a p h }**

_Only photographs remind us of the passing of days._

{Seventeen, Alessia Cara}

**{ d e d i c a t i o n }**

To those who want another life to live, and to those who just need another life to love.

**{ a c k n o w l e d g e m e n t s }**

Thanks to my best friend, as always, for helping me with planning this story even though reading the original short story was pain and laughter. Also, thanks to God because I'm a sappy Christian like that, and this whole story started with Him. I have, however, included Him with more tact this time around. (Don't laugh too hard at me, Megs.)

**{ w a r n i n g }**

» a plethora of angst  
» seriously, so much angst  
» possible depression  
» things of that nature  
» crap writing because I don't know how to save this story with the current state of my writing style and trying to make it less teen-fic-y is too much work for a story I'll probably take down a month after it's finished anyway  
» little to no editing whatsoever  
» did I mention angst?

* * *

**{ p r e f a c e }**

I'm rewriting a short story I wrote in eighth grade. I'll admit that I'm not the biggest fan of the concept anymore because Lethana is too dependent on Philip, but I have too many other story ideas to dwell too long on fixing that. I've been trying for years to do their story a little more justice, and I think it's time to finally move on. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Point-and Shoot

She was unable to sleep. She had lacked the ability for some time now, but, contrary to most things in her life, it had not started with the incident. However, it was indeed very closely related to the incident.

She rose from her bed, knowing she would not sleep at all. She crossed her bedroom and lifted a hand to the wall, barely touching the photographs with trembling fingers. She had once kept a running count of how many pictures she had taken and pinned onto the wall-sized bulletin board, but that effort had been useless after the first year. After all, she had captured images of nearly everything she had experienced ever since—

_Why are you still here?_

Her throat tightened when she found one of her most treasured photos, purposefully placed at the center of the wall. The four smiling faces in the picture were ones that she knew she would only see in old photographs, and the fifth smile was rapidly nearing the same fate.

_Why don't you just die?_

She wanted to cry. There were many times that she had wished so badly that she could let her tears fall and just cry, to let the sorrow and despair go. But there were no tears to let fall. Instead, she gently took the picture down and crumpled into a fetal position on the ground, clutching the photo as if it was her lifeline.

_Go die, will you?_

In all honesty, it probably was.

_"Please! I don't want to die!"_

For the rest of the night, she stared blankly at the five grinning faces, wondering how she had managed to lose it all on that one day, in that one night. How had she lost herself all those years ago?

It was not long before the sun began to rise—or was it? She could never be so sure because her days had stretched on for an eternity yet somehow still blurred together ever since the incident. As she reached up to pin the image back onto the wall, she realized she was grateful for the aches in her shoulders and back, the results of lying on hardwood floor for far too long. Pain was a good reminder that one was alive, though admittedly it could also make one wish that it was not so.

She, of all people, knew it well.

After dressing, she gently placed her camera and last night's homework into her backpack. As she exited her room, she wondered if she should knock on the door at the end of the hallway. She wondered if she should wake him up. Deciding it would be best not to—after all, she was probably the only one in the apartment—she made her way out the door.

As she walked in the direction of the school, a fading memory skittered across her mind. Her mother's soothing voice sang songs of redemption, forgiveness, and love. She wondered briefly if the songs were true, if there really was Someone who offered those things for free without expecting much in return.

She doubted it, but it was a hope that she found she could cling to.

A car sped past her, and she caught a glimpse of the passenger beside the driver. The sight shocked her. After all, how could she have known that Philip Marshal took the backroads to school? She quickly pulled her camera from her bag and was already taking a picture of the truck before it disappeared around the bend.

Barely letting herself processing the piece of newfound information, she continued to walk along the now empty road.

* * *

She had almost managed to make it through the day without suffering any attacks, but after the last bell rang and as the other students began pushing their way out the doors, she found she was unable to control her panic. There were just so many people shoving her; there was so much physical contact. And she just couldn't breathe because there wasn't any air left to do so.

When she had regained control of her senses, she discovered that it was already dark—though that was no indicator of how late it actually was because the sun had begun to set earlier anyway—and that she was curled up on the bathroom floor. When she exited the bathroom, she failed to recognize her location.

She assessed her surroundings. There were no lockers, which ruled out the main and west wings of the school. She peeked into a classroom. She realized with horror that she was in the arts wing. She did not know how to find her way out because she had spent virtually no time there.

Her breathing quickened, and she forced herself onto the ground, trying to make sure that she would not be able to get herself even more lost.

She saw their faces again. She didn't want to, but there they were, taunting her, beckoning her, blaming her, screaming at her—

_Why are you still here?_

She shuddered. There were the voices again, reaching out to her from the darkness. She could see nothing but their slippery silhouettes. She could hear nothing but their uneven voices and the clinking of their chains.

_Why don't you just die?_

They always had good advice, but she could never seem to follow through with it. They never told her how or when or where, and she certainly did not have enough time between the panic attacks and him to plot her demise.

_Go die, will you?_

The hallway suddenly went dark. Clearly, she had overstayed her welcome, and now it was time to leave. She rose shakily, hoping that she would manage to chance upon an exit. Her mind was too disoriented and the voices were too loud for her to logically find her way to one.

_"Someone save us!"_

Her hope was fading fast, but as she stumbled through the halls, she came across a somewhat familiar figure.


	3. First Impressions

Philip laughed as he and Wayne exited the locker room, exhausted from their grueling basketball practice. Wayne hadn't bothered putting his shirt back on after he showered and was ignoring Philip's complaints about it.

"Hey, do you think Kitty Kat would mind if we stop by Game On instead of Espress Yourself today?" Wayne asked, interrupting Philip's long-winded reasoning. "I'm in the mood for leaving you in the dust on the go kart track, especially after the hell that Coach just put us through."

Philip dropped his argument against Wayne's shirtlessness, unable to stop his competitive streak from getting the better of him. "Like you ever could beat me. I'm sure Kat wouldn't mind, as long as you don't mind her beating your ego into the ground. If it's worth anything, I don't mind, either."

"And how will she manage that?" his best friend challenged, crossing his arms defensively.

"By kicking your butt at Dance Off, obviously," a feminine voice pitched in, causing the two boys to turn around. "Hola, chicos."

Philip offered her a wave as a greeting.

Wayne's eyebrows shot up as he retorted, "Kitty Kat, you wish you could beat me. My ancestors are from Africa; I got hops."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Kat scoffed and wrinkled her nose. "Put your shirt on, idiota."

"The nerve!" he mockingly gasped. "How dare you belittle my people, you racist!"

She laughed. "If you weren't aware of it, Thompson, I also belong to a minority."

"Yeah, yeah. We all know Philly's the privileged white boy around here."

"I can do nothing but agree with that, no matter how much I hate it," Philip answered truthfully. "And don't call me Philly. Have you been hanging out with Ian?" His green eyes narrowed at Wayne accusingly.

Wayne shrugged. "What can I say? He's in my weights class. Hey, Kitty Kat, guess how much I lift." He flexed his scrawny biceps. "Betcha can't guess."

Philip fell into silence as his best friends continued to bicker. Mentally sighing, he wondered if anything would ever change. He didn't necessarily hate this everyday, average life, but he wouldn't have minded some excitement every now and then. One could only handle so much monotony in a lifetime.

He went through a mental checklist of his schoolwork to stop his internal whining and realized he had forgotten something.

"Sorry, guys, but can you wait for me in the car? I forgot my notes for the APUSH paper."

Wayne snorted. "You poor history geek."

Kat smacked his shoulder, effectively shutting the boy up. "Hurry up. I don't want to spend too long in this idiot's presence; his lack of intelligence might rub off on me."

"Excuse me? I am very intelligent, thank you very much. Have you seen my math grades? I happen to be in AP Calculus as a junior if you didn't know."

Philip laughed at them as he headed in the direction of the southwest wing.

* * *

He paused again. He had been unsure before, but he was sure this time that there was indeed the sound of scuffling footsteps behind him. The worry that he was being stalked by a killer briefly crossed his mind.

Being brutally stabbed in a dark school hallway was not how he wanted to die.

He listened again for the footfalls, noting that they were growing louder. In fact, they sounded like they were coming from right behind him. He spun around to confront his stalker with a fist. Instead of the creepy middle-aged man he was expecting, he discovered a frightened girl around his age. He almost didn't pull his fist back in time.

"Uh…sorry?" He gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just, uh, thought you were a stalker…" Philip winced. "I'm sorry; that was completely uncalled for. Let's start over?"

She didn't give him much of a response, instead shrinking behind a veil her black hair. Her entire demeanor screamed small and timid.

"Well, I'm Philip Marshal." He extended a hand—not the one that almost punched her—and attempted a smile. "What's your name?"

The girl stared at his outstretched hand for a long minute and hesitantly reached out to shake it. "My name is Lethana Barnswell," she murmured, barely audible.

"That's a pretty name," he remarked, "but it's a little long. Mind if I call you Lee?"

She shook her head slowly.

He smiled. "Great. Are you a visitor? It's a bit late to be here, though."

"No, I go to school here."

"No way! Maybe I'll see you around tomorrow." He gave her one last smile before turning around. He only stopped when he heard her call out quietly.

"May I follow you out? I get lost easily."

He laughed as he faced her once again. "Of course! Don't worry; it's a big school. I get lost sometimes, too."

"Then there is cause to worry."

Philip laughed again. "I guess if you look at it that way."

* * *

"So I walk up to him, and—Philly, who's the ghost behind you?"

Lee shrank back while Philip froze, mouth hanging open.

"Wayne Ulysses Thompson! I cannot believe you just asked that!" Kat immediately screeched, grabbing his afro and pulling hard. "¡Escúchame! You'd better apologize to the poor girl!"

"Ow! Ow! Kitty Kat, stop!" he whined. By now, he was almost doubled over, trying to detangle himself from Kat's fingers.

"Not until you apologize! I can't believe your nerve!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, random girl! Ow! Kitty Kat!"

She yanked her fingers out of his hair. "For good measure. What in the world made you think to say that?"

"I just said it, okay? I'm sorry, random ghost girl." He jumped away from Kat as she reached for his head again.

Philip cleared his throat. "Guys, this is Lee. Lee, meet Katarina Iglesias and Wayne Thompson."

Her eyes stayed glued to the ground, and her dark hair fell over her face. "My name is Lethana Barnswell."

"Call me Kat," the other girl said, smiling. "I'm sorry for ese idiota earlier."

"I'll have you know that I am hurt by that statement." He gave a little wave. "Wayne at your service."

"Hello," she replied politely, still refusing to look any of them in the eye.

Philip cleared his throat. "Well, this has been…interesting."

Lee began to back away cautiously, as if she was afraid one of them would jump out at her. "I have to go. Thank you for your help, Philip Marshal." She scampered away without a glance backward.

Wayne turned to Philip. "What was that just now?"

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Her!" his best friend cried out, waving his arms manically. "What was she doing here?"

"To be honest, I don't know. She was just lost, I guess. I helped her find her way out."

"Lost?" Kat piped up. "Son las seis. School ended three hours ago. That is quite a long time to be lost."

Philip shrugged. "Maybe she had something to do. I don't know. All I know that it was fun meeting her. Are we going to the arcade or not?"

Kat and Wayne glanced at each other before climbing into Kat's pickup.


	4. Definition

After she had finished her homework, she curled up in her bed, contemplating the events of that day. No one had ever really noticed her before, and none had actually bothered to give her the time of day as Philip did. She wondered what it would be like to be part of a group of friends again, just like Philip, Kat, and Wayne. She wondered what it would be like to have someone love her for who she was.

Who was she? What made up her identity?

Was she that scared young girl during the incident? When it came down to life and death and usually at times lesser than that, she would easily be reduced to a frightened, trembling mess that barely resembled a human. She was not even sure if past experiences beyond her control defined her.

If she was defined by past actions that she had indeed done, then did that not mean that she was inherently evil? She had, after all, caused more harm than healing in her lifetime. By the end of it, the good that she will have done would be greatly outweighed by the bad, no matter how short she knew her life would be.

Perhaps the good that she would do was what made her who she was. If that was true, then was anything bad that she could have possibly done inconsequential? Also, if it was not her that committed evil acts, then who was it?

If her hobbies and interests defined her, what would she be if they were taken away? Of course, she would not know what to do if she did not have photography, but would that mean that she was nothing without it?

What defined a person?

She gazed blankly out her window, watching as the moon rose high in the sky.

* * *

If there was ever a moment that defined her, it would be the moment she walked into the small, unkempt apartment to discover him quietly livid, seated at the kitchen counter with a small mug of coffee.

She had gone out for a moment to throw out the trash and then had been gone for another half an hour to purchase the groceries for that week and then had been gone for another hour because the rising sun had cast such a perfect light on the high rise of the city that just demanded to be photographed. Not a thought of whether he had awoken had crossed her mind or even neared it at all, and she knew immediately upon discovering him that her mistake had been grave.

He was silent, not even bothering to glance up at her as she hastily picked up the groceries that were scattered on the floor.

Only after she had begun making brunch did he speak.

"You didn't tell me you were going out."

She froze, trying to force the words "I" and "apologize" out of her mouth but to no avail. She could feel their hands holding her jaw shut and covering her mouth so that she couldn't make a sound.

"You aren't even going to apologize," he continued, "you ungrateful brat."

The voices were closing in on her, taunting her from the darkness, edging closer and closer until they had her trapped, bound by the chains of her own evil.

"You ungrateful brat!" he spat again. "I don't want your pathetic excuses for meals. I've ordered some takeout; go pick it up. Here's the address." His hand, loosely pinching a scrap of paper between his finger and thumb, stretched toward her. The paper taunted her, daring her to reach out and grab it, but her hands wouldn't obey her.

_Why are you still here?_

She did not know if the voices had also made it impossible for her to speak or move, but, if they had, then they had done a good job of it.

_Why don't you just die?_

"What are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Are you rebelling against me? Why aren't you doing anything?"

_Go die, will you?_

"Hey, brat, I'm telling you to do something!"

_"_ _Leave them alone!"_

Disgusted, he let the scrap of paper flutter to the floor. "Forget it. I'll go pick it up myself."

He grabbed a jacket and walked out the door, and the voices followed after him. She released a shaky breath, trembling hands reaching to throw away the paper. Once she had regained control of her senses, she tried to salvage what was left of the eggs she had been frying. There was no guarantee that he would share any of his food or even return to the apartment, after all.

There was also no way she was going to ask him to do so.

Perhaps what other people thought of her defined her. After all, that would be how she would be remembered when she was gone. What did her opinion matter, as fleeting as it was, in comparison to her memory, which would—hopefully—live on past her death?

She realized that she would not leave much of a memory to begin with as she quickly made her way to the bathroom. As the food forced its way up her throat, she prayed fervently that she would be given another chance to become a memory worth remembering.


	5. First Try

Philip had somehow convinced Lee to join him and his friends at the local coffee shop that day, and now they were sipping their respective drinks and watching Kat and Wayne argue over whether cats or dogs were the better pets.

Wayne threw his hands up in the air, effectively shutting Kat up for a moment. “All I’m saying is that I like cats way more than I like dogs. Clearly, that means cats are far superior.”

Kat’s eyes darkened and narrowed. “That proves nothing!” She almost knocked all of their drinks off the table when she slammed her palm on it.

“Woah, there, Kitty Kat, no need to be so violent.” Wayne caught her mocha before it toppled to the tile floor. He took a long sip and looked her straight in the eye. “What’s so wrong with liking cats anyway?”

Philip cut in before she could explode into a passionate rant again. “Is this really something worth getting so worked up over?” When neither of his friends answered, he sighed. “I thought so.” He took one last sip of his coffee and glanced around the table. “Anyway, does anyone want to do anything later? I’m free for the rest of the day, actually.” Philip snuck a glance down at Lee, who had started fidgeting in her seat.

Wayne shrugged. “What were you planning on doing?” he asked, lazily stirring his drink with his straw.

“Not really sure. Maybe watch that new movie that came out last month?” He directed the conversation toward the other two, but he decided to keep his gaze trained on Lee, who was clearly uncomfortable for a reason unknown to him.

“Sounds fun to me,” Kat answered, grinning widely.

Wayne nodded. “If Kitty Kat’s going, then I’ll go.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Por supuesto, Wayne. I’m your ride, after all.”

“Semantics,” he tossed back with a slight chuckle.

As the two erupted into a pointless, heated argument once again, Philip took the opportunity to focus all of his attention on Lee. He wasn’t sure why going out to spend time with friends agitated her so much, but she’d given him a similar reaction in the cereal aisle of the grocery store.

Philip supposed it was just luck that Ian had insisted they were running out of cereal at home—which they weren’t, but his older brother just wouldn’t listen—and that Lee had also needed cereal at the same time. She had been a pleasant surprise when he turned the corner, an immediate remedy to his sour mood caused by his brother’s pushiness and insistence.

She hadn’t noticed him, however, and promptly walked into him without looking. When he glanced up at her after his fall, he almost laughed at the utterly horrified look on her face as she realized who she’d just sent flying to the floor. He had leaped up and grabbed her wrist when he realized she was about to run in fright. He immediately released her wrist after coming to his senses and sheepishly asked if she wanted to join him for coffee.

And then her demeanor completely changed into something like what it was now. She was fidgeting, refusing to look at anyone or anything in particular for too long. Her hair had fallen over her face again, and her hands were trembling.

He tried to smile gently at her. “Want to watch the movie, Lee?” he asked, leaning down so his mouth was right next to her ear.

That was when he realized she was murmuring under her breath, ever so silently. He couldn’t make out what she was saying—he could barely hear it, after all—but he knew she was completely stressed even if he didn’t know why.

“Hey,” he began, voice still soft, “Lee, are you okay?” When she still didn’t answer, he took her hands from her lap and held them in his. “Lee.”

She finally looked up at him, the fear in her eyes subsiding the slightest bit.

He tried a gentle smile again. “Come watch a movie with us.”

She froze for a moment before shaking her head with growing fervor. “I have to go home. I must go home, or he—”

“Well, if it isn’t my baby brother,” a loud voice exclaimed, snapping Kat and Wayne out of their argument and startling Philip enough to cause him to jerk back, letting go of Lee’s hands. Ian approached the table, clapping one hand on Philip’s shoulder and the other on Lee’s shoulder. “It’s a family reunion!”

Philip pushed his eyebrows together in confusion. “Ian, what are you doing here? How did you even get here? I have the car.”

“Ian, my man!” Wayne greeted excitedly, standing up to give him a bro hug. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He grinned. “Me neither, Wayne. Beautiful as always, Kat.”

Kat let out a laugh. “Flirty as always, Ian.”

“You love me.” He turned to his brother. “For your information, Philly, I took Dad’s car because you were taking too long to get the cereal. Now I see you’ve ditched me to have coffee.”

Philip wanted to punch him in the shoulder, but he restrained himself. “For your information, Ian, I did get the stupid cereal. I was going to bring it home later.”

“Too late, I got my own.” Ian glanced down, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he realized for the first time that he didn’t know the girl on whose shoulder his hand was resting. “Well, hello, random girl. I have no idea who you are.”

Philip caught Lee’s eyes flickering to his before she looked back down at her lap. “My name is Lethana Barnswell,” she said by way of greeting.

“Ian Marshal,” he answered with a slight grin as he looked between Philip and Lee. “Older brother to this incompetent fool over here.” Before Philip could object to that statement, he pressed on. “Want to hang out with me for the rest of the day, Ana? I promise I’m more fun.”

Ian’s little nickname made the hairs on Philip’s arm rise. He couldn’t rationalize it, but he couldn’t help but feel that Ian was about to steal his friends away, especially Lee.

“It’s true,” Wayne chimed in, earning a slap on the shoulder from Kat.

Lee didn’t answer right away, clearly panicking. Philip interrupted for her.

“We were actually going to see a movie, Ian. So go away.” He shrugged Ian’s hand off his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, daring Ian to challenge him.

Unfortunately, his brother had always been one to accept a challenge. “I’ll just come with you. What movie are you watching?”

Philip furrowed his brows in annoyance. “Whatever. Just follow us to the theater.” He grabbed Lee’s hand and pulled her out to the car he shared with his brother.

As he buckled up, she spoke. “Philip, I must go home soon.” When he turned to look at her, he found her practically cowering in her seat, frail and fragile against the worn leather. Her hands were trembling much more violently than they had been in the coffee shop. “Please, Philip.”

He twisted around to look at her. “Lee, honestly, what’s so wrong with hanging out with us? Do you not like us or something?” he asked, unable to contain his annoyance. He couldn’t tell if he was annoyed because his brother had decided to ruin his day with his presence or if he was annoyed because Lee was always so hesitant around him despite his best efforts to make her feel comfortable or if he was annoyed because he just couldn’t understand the one person he wanted to, but the fact was that he was annoyed, and he found he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Unfortunately, the only thing he managed to do was scare Lee off. He didn’t even get a chance to call out to her before she was out the door and running away down the sidewalk. He groaned in frustration, mentally berating himself.

Ian sauntered up to the door Lee had left ajar, a smirk on his face. He glanced around the inside of the car before hopping in the passenger’s seat. “Either you bought a whole bunch of extra food, or Ana left all her groceries in her hurry to get away from you.”


End file.
